Tuesday, August 28, 2012

“I am what I am, Oscar.”

Decided to spend the evening wallowing in my own depressed
jealousy after the predicament over Oscar - and doing it the best way I knew
how. Swimming in bottle after bottle of bitter tasting booze.

I sat in Bar Buen Tiempo and shortly after my arrival, I
struck up a conversation with a tall Mexican Indian who sat a stool away from
me.

“Hello.” He said, extending his hand. “I am Javier.”

“Hello, Javier.” I croaked.

The beer flowed, as did the mutual flirting, and we became
quite lit - both meeting eventually, by chance, in the restroom and with him
pushing me against the mildew stained tiled wall, Javier kissed me
passionately, while pulling out our erections and casually masturbating each
other, our intentions became obvious. That was until the cantina’s security
guard came in and ordered us to knock it off.

Javier and I drunkenly joked and laughed the night away -
flirting with a few handsome men that sat around the warped, mahogany bar.

Across from me, on the other side of the bar, was a dark
skinned, curly haired lad who kept winking every time he caught my eye. When
he walked over to the jukebox to select a few songs, I worked my faggoty wiles.

I slid off my stool and stood next to him at the jukebox.

As he flipped the button selector, I slurred, “So, where you
from?”

He smiled, “I just arrived from Acapulco.” He plunked a few
pesos into the machine and continued, “I really like Americans.”

“You’re in luck, I happen to be American. What’s your name?”
I grinned.

He extended his hand, “I am Jose Luis.”

As the night progressed, the drunken debauchery continued
with both Javier and Jose Luis. That was - until he walked in.

Straight, jet-black hair parted down the middle, full lips
with goatee, beautiful amber eyes and slim physique - he stared at me as he
passed on his way into the mensroom.

I excused myself from my two new friends and followed him
into the restroom.

He stood alone at the urinal trough as I sided up next to
him.

“Hola.” He said.

“Hola.” I said, as I blatantly gazed down at his dry goods.

With overly bubbly enthusiasm, he spat, “Hey. You wanna buy
some cologne? I got all kinds!”

“Sure.” I agreed, as he quickly reached into his tattered
backpack. “Let’s see what ya got.”

I walked out with a bottle of Kenneth Cole signature cologne
for fifty pesos. I even invited him to share a beer with Javier, Jose Luis and
I.

That crafty cologne peddler - Ezra he stated his name was -
and so gosh darn adorable in a hippie, air-headed kind of way - he just charmed
the pants off of me.

For some odd reason, we three - Javier, Ezra, and I - walked
the few blocks over to Bar Nebraska, wherein Ezra became a wild eyed, hard-on
of passion.

He groped and kissed me with such ardor; one of the waiters
ordered us to cool it - we just ignored the chilango midget and continued.

Eventually saying adios to Javier, Ezra and I hightailed it
to my pad, where we flung each other around the bed thrashing and moaning in
the still of the night - best one night stand in many a moon.

Lying there afterward, bathed in sweat and spunk, Ezra
stated, “I got to go, guero. I have to be at work early in the morning.”

It already being 2:45am - we showered, got dressed and I
walked him to the corner and shook hands - just as Oscar came slinking around
the corner, literally out of nowhere.

After shifting
silence and awkward glances, Oscar and I sat on the ledge of a crumbling brick
wall and talked.

We sat there silent for a bit. Not looking at each other. A
gang of mariachi stood in the dusty park by the curb in an attempt to solicit
business.

“How you been?” I said, as I lit a cigarette.

I handed one to him, he took a puff, “Cool. Cool – just
trying to make ends meet, you know?”

As I stared wantonly, my emotions for him washed over me. He
sat hunched over with elbows on his knees, loose tank top draped over his
sinewy frame. His eyes darted nervously at the intermittent traffic that
crawled down the street.

“I missed you.” He whispered.

“I missed you, too.” I repeated.

Another long beat of
silence.

“Look, Oscar – I understand I can be a little overbearing at
times and ask from you perhaps too much. But, the point of the matter is – I
really care about you. I really like you.”

There was another long pause.

“I am what I am, Oscar.”

He said, almost at a whisper, “Please understand, guero, the
gay life is difficult to transition into and you have to come to terms that it
will take time for me to become comfortable with it.”

Oscar stated slowly, “I do have an affection for you, guero,
but, we need to work things out - slowly.”

I said, “I could deal with that.”

Eventually, we repaired to my apartment where we both lay on
my bed; casually embraced and discussed further his romantic interests
concerning me.

“I’ve never met anyone remotely like you.” He said. “When I
am with you, you make me feel good and smart - I can’t talk to anyone like I
talk with you. All my other friends are either air-headed girls or guys that go
on about beer and futbol. I really do like you.”

And so, this soft spoken and sincere banter went on until
5:30am - cigarette after cigarette, as Angelo Badalamente wailed his dark jazz
over my stereo.

After a tight embrace, Oscar left - we both saying goodbye
on the corner - and I returned to my flat. Lying in darkness, I pondered the
prospects of a relationship with that boy and the outcome if it does come -
sounded positive.

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